


it's better to know the devil you know

by OneSweetMelody



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternative Universe - FBI, Flashbacks, Graphic Description of Corpses, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Murder, Non-Linear Narrative, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-19 05:04:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16527920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneSweetMelody/pseuds/OneSweetMelody
Summary: When Nathaniel Wesninski enters the Baltimore FBI field office, he comes out as Neil Josten. Neil owes more than than a few favors FBI if he doesn't want to be slammed with a host of charges ranging from identify theft to attempted murder. With no choice but to work for the FBI to pay off his dues, Neil is assigned to a field office in Columbia, South Carolina. However, it doesn't take long for Neil's past start catching up with him and for him to start wondering if he's really all that safe in Columbia





	1. then

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE HEAD THE TAGS AND CONTENT WARNINGS IN THIS FIC.
> 
> I will do my best to individually tag warning at the END of each chapter note. If there is anything else you think should be included let me know. 
> 
> Song: The Devil You Know - X Ambassadors  
> \--
> 
> "we're kings of the killing" is my child. It's been a two year long journey with that fic, polishing rewriting, crying and leaving it untouched for stretches of time. As it stands now even as a WIP, it holds a special place in my heart. I feel truly awful hacking it into pieces but I hope that I can finish it and stitch it back together into a more coherent and cohesive piece. It was an ambitious project and it probably won't have chugged along as far as it did without the help of my amazing beta. But I spent as much time utterly hating it as I did loving it.
> 
> If you've already read "kings of the killing", I want you to know that this fic is different. Some scenes may be similar or mostly the same but my writing and my view of the characters and story has changed a lot in these two years. It's been a year since the last chapter was updated and even then, my writing varies greatly from the early chapter to the last chapters. If you want to jump in where you left off, then you will be missing a lot of what makes this story different. If you haven't read it, then you can start here. You don't need to have read the other fic to understand this one. I'm leaving it up mostly because I don't have it in me to completely delete it and pretend it never existed. It's far from what I hope to be my best work, but I don't want to throw it and the progress I've made away.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's supported me and my writing.

**Baltimore, Maryland: Twenty-One Years Before**

“You okay kid?”

Nate Wesninski blinked owlishly and turned towards the voice but his face twisted into a fierce scold when he found the source.

Romero Malcolm came to a stop in the front walkway. He leaned against the banister with well practice casualness and gave Nate a considering look. Romero was a few years older than Nate’s babysitter, Lola. They were siblings but where Lola was playful and kind, Romero was only nice to him because Nate’s dad was his boss. Nate avoided him and his superficial attempts at playing nice.

“I’m fine,” Nate said curtly.

Romero gave a short fake laugh and took a measured step forward. Nate stepped back and wiped his hands on his khaki shorts. It didn’t help. No matter how many times he wrung them out or wiped them on his shorts, his hands stayed cool and clammy. Romero tracked the movement and glanced between Nate’s defensive stance and the wide oak doors. He fixed a wide false smile on his face.

“Are you sure little Nate,” he crouched down low and gave a meaningful look at the door. “Looks like you’ve been standing here for a while.”

“I said I’m fine,” Nate said as sharply as he could manage.

He’d never been in his father’s office before. The large oak double door remained firmly shut most hours of the day and when his father disappeared inside, Nate knew he wasn’t allowed to disturb him. But today, he stood in front of them, determined to go inside.

“Oh, Junior’s got a meeting,” Romero let out a low whistle. “Going into Daddy’s study for the first time? Is he raising your allowance?”

Nate was in trouble. He didn’t need Romero’s mean jokes to remind him that going to his father’s study wasn’t a good thing. Only this father's employees and business partners went into his study. Sometimes police officers stopped but never in uniform or with their badges but Nate could recognize them by the way they walked and held themselves.

Nate wrapped his arms around his belly and avoided Romero’s mocking grin.

He wasn’t supposed to make his father mad. He was supposed to be good and listen to Lola and Mama and his teachers, he wasn’t supposed to go in his father’s office or any of the back rooms, and he wasn’t supposed to talk to police or anyone else about his father or anyone who worked for him. Nate hadn’t been bad. He’d followed all the rules like he was supposed to.

“I’m fine,” Nate repeated. He wanted to stab Romero. He wouldn’t get in trouble if he did a good job of it. His parents would say he ‘showed initiative’. Even Lola probably wouldn’t mind too much if Nate stabbed her brother— after all, she was in charge of his knife training.

Romero studied his face a bit longer before settling on a cold smile. He stood slowly and ruffled Nate’s hair in mock affection. “Good luck then kid.”

Nate wanted him to leave so he could have a few months of privacy to steel up his resolve to knock on the wide oak doors into his father’s office. But the moment he disappeared, Nate was left with a deep sense of dread once more. He grasped a handle with a sweaty grip. He wasn’t ready to go inside. He had to go inside. His father was expecting him.

Nate opened the door.

The room could have been decorated with fine sculptures and sturdy bookcases lining the walls. The rugs could have been intricately woven with delicate designs and fine wool. It could have screamed of the same wealth and power as the rest of the house but Nate couldn’t take any of it in because eyes were focused on the large powerful looking man sitting on the edge of the desk.

“Junior, good to see you.”

“Good to see you too sir,” Nate stayed glued to his spot by the door. His father motioned for him to come closer. Nate took his time crossing the room doing his best not to drag his feet on the carpet or let his father know about the sting of tears in his eyes. He didn’t want to be bad and get in more trouble.

His father picked him up and sat him down on the wooden table beside him. Nate stared down at the ground instead of at his father and clutched the fabric of his shorts in his hands. They were still sweating. It took a few moments but he slowly turned his head towards his father, knowing that his father wouldn’t speak until he had Nate’s full attention.

“Do you know why you’re here Junior?” Nate shook his head no. His father clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Don’t lie to your Papa.”

“Because Lola,” Nate started softly but immediately backtracked, “because Miss Lola said you wanted to talk to me.”

“Are you sure it was Miss Lola’s fault?”

“No, sir.” Short easy answers were always best.

“You did something too,” his father’s voice was steady and calm. “Can you tell me what happened?” Nate shook his head again and his father leaned in closer to look into Nate’s eyes. “Let’s try that one more time, Nathaniel. Why do you think I called you here?”

Lola was the closest thing Nate had to a best friend. She was his babysitter, nanny, whatever people called it. She had been in his life as long as he could remember— helping Mama by watching after him before and after her classes and teaching him important things like how to use a knife and fight dirty. He knew that she reported his progress back to Mama who updated his father on how Nate was doing in his tutoring lessons.

“I lied,” Nate admitted quietly. “I skipped lessons and made Miss Lola get me ice cream and snacks and go to the movies.”

His lessons were fun but sometimes Nate got tired of the lessons and wanted to do other things that the other kids at his private school did with their nannies like getting treats and go fun places. Nate knew better than to talk about his lessons with Lola with anyone at school so he pretended to do the same things as the other kids. It worked until one of the kids in his first-grade class called him a liar. Nate didn’t like being called a liar.

“And this wasn’t once was it,” his father pushed. Nate could feel his throat close up. “It was a few times.”

“Yes sir,” he replied impossibly softer.

“I talked to Miss Lola. She’s in trouble too. She works for me and she’s supposed to be a grown up and not get carried away because a seven-year-old gets pouty. But maybe she’s still too much of a kid too.”

“I won’t do it again, sir.” His father ruffled his deep red hair the same way Romero had early. Nate sat stock still.

“You’re a cute kid Nathaniel. You look just like your papa.” People said that all the time, how much he looked like his father. They had the same eyes and the same hair. His nose looked more like Mama’s they said. And he was a small wispy thing like her as well. But when he looked in the mirror, it was his dad’s eyes that stared back at him. “I know this isn’t the first time you’ve lied to adults to get what you wanted. I’m actually pretty impressed you managed it with Miss Lola.”

Nate gave a small nod wondering if his father was still angry. He was hard to read sometimes. That’s another thing he learned, but from Mama—  how to figure out what people, mostly adults, wanted.

“And one day this is going to be a good skill. You can go far with a pretty face and a nice smile. Charming people like your papa. You’d be good at it, I can tell.” Nate felt a small surge of pride at the approval.

“Yes, Papa.”

His father smiled, running his hands through Nate’s hair like he used to do when Nate was younger. Nate missed it. It was soothing and calm, reminding him distantly his father’s voice when he used to read him to sleep. Suddenly, the hand in his hair tightened suddenly. It didn’t hurt but it was still a sharp twinge when the hand tilted his head up slightly and held him firm so he couldn’t move. He didn’t want to move.

“Junior, I love you so much. You know that right?” His father didn’t wait for a response. The hand tightened slightly. “But if you ever do something like that again we’re going to have a problem. No skipping out on lessons. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Papa,” Nate breathed. His father looked at him again as if searching for something in his expression. Then, without loosening his grip, he placed a small kiss on Nate’s forehead.

* * *

**Baltimore, Maryland: Three Years Before**

Nathaniel spent the last six years of his twenty-five years in various safe houses. Of them, this one was one of the nicest he has been in. There are at least two agents in the house with him at all times taking shifts to keep an eye out for his father’s men and to, more importantly, make sure he doesn’t run. But while every muscle in his body jumped at every opening to get away, Nathaniel didn’t feel like running. He felt old, tired to his bones and world-weary.

Agent Giles gave Nathaniel a piercing look as he made his way to the bathroom. Guessing what his file probably looked like, Nathaniel knew the agents were waiting for him to snap and make a quick escape having. No doubt Agent Giles was stationed outside the bathroom listening to make sure Nathaniel didn’t try to sneak out through the tiny window above the sink.

It wasn’t anything new. They watched him with wary eyes and tracked his every twitch and shift in position. But if he ran there was going to be one more group of people with too much money and resources out there looking for him. Instead, he made do with planning escape routes and finding holes in his security detail that he knew he wouldn’t get to carry out.

It was almost a surprise that after days in that too nice safe house that Agent Browning called him down to the Baltimore field office.

Nathaniel expected interview rooms to look different. He hadn’t seen too many police procedurals but he knew that the room seemed to come directly out of an episode of SUV or whatever it was called – three grey walls, a one-way mirror, a small bolted table in the center with built-in rings for handcuffs, and a security camera mounted on the wall ahead of him.

Out of sheer luck, Nathaniel was still dressed in borrowed street clothes and not chained to the bolted table, though based on Agent Browning’s expression, the decision did not meet his approval. It was nothing but a power-play hauling Neil from his “safe” house to the bureau office for a conversation they’ve had half a dozen times already.

“We need you to testify.” Against his father, Agent Browning meant. It wasn’t an option.

“And I told you already, that’s not happening,” Nathaniel reminded the FBI agent. “Unless you have trouble hearing and need me to say again it for the hundredth time.” Browning scolded but Nathaniel held what little ground he had remaining. “I already gave you everything on my father. There’s no reason to keep hassling me to testify. I told you who his people are. Now you and your people have to go find them. My job is done.”

“I’m not sure you understand the charges we could nail you with. Aiding and abetting, fraud, identity theft, conspiracy to commit a felony, possibly multiple accounts of attempted murder, and that’s just in the US. Not to mention what you did to your mother –”

Nathaniel flinched back instinctively at the mention of his mother, “I wouldn’t— I didn’t do anything to her.”

“Really, so she’s not buried in some unmarked grave somewhere?” No, he’d burned her remains but he wasn’t going to let Browning know that. “Maybe if you stopped pretending to be above the law, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“I’m not testifying.”

Nathaniel knew how fucked his situation was right now. Even with the Butcher in federal prison awaiting trial, his men were still out on the hunt for Nathaniel or eagerly awaiting the return of the prodigal son to take over his father’s mantle as the Butcher of Baltimore. But whatever part of Nathaniel Wesninski was still alive died on a beach in Del Norte County, California just as Mary Hatford did as her body went up in flames.

Agent Wilson spoke up from the corner by the mirror opposite the camera, “we’re sorry about your mother and wish we could go back to change how things turned out. But for now, we’re pretty limited in what we can do to help you.” He gave Agent Browning a stern look which the other FBI agent returned with a terse frown before turning back to Nathaniel.

“Look here kid, we’re giving you some decent options alright. Far too generous if you ask me. But regardless of what you pick, you’re going to be under the FBI’s watch whether you like it or not. It’s up to you to decide if you want to do it with a badge or in a cell.”

Browning let the statement hang in the air like a trump card. Nathaniel fixed his expression into something as neutral as possible but it wasn’t enough to wipe the smirk off Browning’s face.

He was stuck between a rock and another rock. Ideally, Nathaniel would be able to find some small crevasse to weasel his way out, but so far most of his options were blocked. Ideally, he could find a way to contact his Uncle Stuart, but Nathaniel was sure he’d already more than burned that bridge. He’d razed it to the ground when he burned Mary’s body.

He’d clearly run out of time.

“What would I get out of it?” Agent Browning raised a single eyebrow at him, prompting him to continue. “What would I get out of helping you?”

“By testifying?”

“No…the other option.”

Browning gave Nathaniel a blank look. “What makes you think that offer is still on the table?”

“He means, how do we know you’ll be willing to actually help us?” Agent Wilson cut in.

Nathaniel thought. He thought of his mother and what she would say to him signing away his life, how she didn’t drag him away from his father and the Moriyama’s for the sake of him giving over his life to someone else anyway. He thought of those lonely few months in Arizona where he swatted in an old creaky foreclosure as he grieved alone. He thought of all the years struggling and doing anything it took to survive. What would it take to survive this? What were his options?

But Nathaniel was almost completely trapped. He had to do what his mother taught him best, adapt and survive.

Nathaniel made steady eye contact with Agent Browning. “Why do you want my help anyway.”

Agent Wilson’s approach was different than Agent Browning, less outwardly aggressive which Nathaniel couldn’t say he liked any better. “You have a very, uh, unique skill set. Not many of our forensics experts have the hands-on experience you have with the human body.”

“You mean they haven’t been taught how to torture people or hide bodies since they could walk.”

Agent Wilson surprised him but not flinching at the admission. “No, no they weren’t.”

Nathaniel didn’t need the reminder that his childhood was more than a little fucked up. But that was mostly par for the course when the FBI couldn’t differential the crimes of his father the mob boss and that of an actual serial killer. Nathan Wesninski was a sadist either way. Nathaniel could still remember the first time his father put a knife in his hands and taught him how to carve into flesh. All the times his father sat him down with an anatomy book and a live human subject to demonstrate just how deep and how carefully you could cut someone without killing them or just how to twist the knife at the end to end it all.

But he wasn’t his father’s son. He’d spent years on the run making sure he wouldn’t be the newest Butcher. And he wasn’t sure if he was ready to commit to a life of looking at corpses and imagining all the different ways they ended up as mangled as they did. But what other choice did he have?

“I’ll do it. I’ll work for you. Under one condition.” He chose his next words carefully. “I can’t do it like this, I can’t be…I can’t be Nathaniel Wesninski. My father’s men are out there and I need some kind of insurance that they won’t be able to just look up that name and find me in the middle of Iowa.”

Wilson glanced at Browning briefly before nodding, “I think we can arrange something to keep you safe.”

Nathaniel pulled absently at a tuff of dyed black hair wondering how long that could be true. Nathan’s people were relentless and with him in jail, they were likely itching for retribution in the easiest form they could find it— carving up his rat of a son. It wouldn’t be any easier if he testified, it was better to do the best he could to disappear. The last thing he needed was the feds even more enthusiastic about finding him than they were when rumors surfaced about the Butcher’s son and wife still being alive.

He was out of options, out of clear escape plans. He came to the FBI in a state of grief and panic but it was the only way to trap down Nathan once and for all even if he couldn’t be the one to put a knife through him himself.

Nathaniel looked down at the file before him, a new life and a new future laid out before him. How long would he last before the urge to run hit him? Before Lola or Jackson or Romero decided to find him.

He was out of options but they always said a caged animal was far more dangerous.

“Okay,” he says finally. “I’ll do it.”


	2. now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m barely half a step up from the junior detectives in his book” the man in the windbreaker gave a noncommittal shrug. “Gordon wants this case.” 
> 
> “You’re at least better to look at,” Hemmick said. “I can’t be stuck with him again. C’mon Matt, don’t you love me?”
> 
> The man gave a noncommittal shrug, and Hemmick heaved a sigh in response. Neil debated leaving them to whatever argument they were having, but the man noticed Neil and blinked in surprise a few times before offering a wide grin and large palm. 
> 
> “We haven’t met before. Matt Boyd, Violent Crimes.”
> 
> Neil took his hand, startled momentarily by the genuine smile Boyd wore. “Neil Josten, Investigations,” he offered cautiously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Panic posting because I don't want to look at this chapter another minute. Remember when I said this was a rewrite. Ha. Hahah. Yeah this is totally different now and literally only the flashbacks are remotely the same. I'm basically telling a whole new story. It's fine. I'm fine. Comments keep me going and feedback is always welcome.
> 
> This chapter was inspired and fueled by Hozier. 
> 
> Trigger warnings in the end notes.

**Columbia, South Carolina: Now**

It was early dawn. The crisp autumn air clung to the earth even as the sun peeked its way over the horizon. The early hour existed in a strange limbo between real and unreal. The world awakened in slow increments then suddenly all at once.

Neil Josten usually took his morning run around this time.

Neil didn’t have many specifications when looking for a place to live. It had to be small enough that he didn’t have to shell out an extortionate amount on rent. It had to have easy access to either a train station or airport, just in case. And most importantly, it had to be somewhere he wouldn’t get too attached to.

Carving out spaces for himself was never Neil’s specialty. His apartment held few personal effects. The tiny, dingy apartment had all the essentials he needed to survive—  running water, mostly functioning electricity and little else. There was only enough space for a small dresser, a rickety table, and an even more rickety chair. It was more of a glorified motel room than a livable space.

But his morning run was something sacred. He tried not to be a creature of habit, sticking to a predictable schedule made you easier to pin down but his morning runs were something he couldn’t give up. He tried to vary them, changing his route every few days and learning his new city pounding step by step on cracked sidewalks and quiet streets.

Today he missed his morning run.

It looked like an ordinary empty road just off a scarcely used highway exit. There were few streetlights or telephone wires. Most of the traffic consisted of locals and the odd trucker or outsider looking to take a shortcut to escape the highway congestion. The asphalt was cracked and damaged having been left almost forgotten for years since the county or the state last thought to make repairs. It was wooded. The treeline started about a few yards off the embankment leaving an exposed grassy area visible from the main road. Houses stood pushed back deeper into the treeline with a few scarce driveways hidden along the route.

A body laid in full view, sprawled in the grassy area between the embankment and treeline rather than tucked away in the shrubbery or hidden deeper still in the wooded area beyond. Even at the brink of dawn, any passing car with headlights would be able to make out its shape from the road.

It was a crime scene.

A section of the road had been blocked off entirely by police cars. Uniformed officers milled around, some speaking in small clusters and others combing crouched near the body. Neil readjusted his department-issued windbreaker and flashed his badge at one of the local officers to gain access. Neil scanned the scene for a familiar face and immediately spotted Detective Nicholas Hemmick a few yards away speaking with a tall man also dressed in plain clothes and a CPD, Columbia Police Department, windbreaker rather than in uniform.

Neil skirted around a group of officers milling around discussing how to proceed after processing the scene. One tried to flag him down, but Neil dodged him and neatly inserted himself into the conversation in progress between Hemmick and the vaguely familiar detective.

“Seth should have put you on lead,” Hemmick rolled his eyes theatrically. “We’re going to do all the work, as usual, and you guys are going to give us none of the credit. As usual.”

“I’m barely half a step up from the junior detectives in his book,” the man in the windbreaker gave a noncommittal shrug. “Gordon wants this case.”

“You’re at least better to look at,” Hemmick said. “I can’t be stuck with him again. C'mon Matt, don’t you love me?”

The man gave a noncommittal shrug, and Hemmick heaved a sigh in response. Neil debated leaving them to whatever argument they were having, but the man noticed Neil and blinked in surprise a few times before offering a wide grin and large palm.

“We haven’t met before. Matt Boyd, Violent Crimes.”

Neil took his hand, startled momentarily by the genuine smile Boyd wore. “Neil Josten, Investigations,” he offered cautiously.

“Welcome to Columbia.” Neil didn’t bother to correct him. He’d been in Columbia several months already and had spent most of the time assisting in minor crimes by gathering preliminary evidence and interviewing witnesses. This was only his second large case. By all accounts, Neil was nothing more than a junior detective, as Boyd had but it earlier, but Boyd looked strangely hopefully while looking at him. “Maybe a fresh set of eyes can help.”

“You mean the three unidentified bodies,” Neil said blandly, gesturing behind him. He pointedly ignored Hemmick’s wince. Neil wasn’t sure what reaction he expected from Boyd, but the detective took it in stride.

“Violent Crimes and Investigations are on it, but it’s been six months since the first body and our leads are drying up.” Boyd surveyed the crime scene, a far-off look on his face. “Gordon thinks it’ll look bad if we throw the ‘s’ word around. It might scare people too much.”

“And three dead bodies is better?” Hemmick asked finding his voice again. “You can’t be serious.”

“Ask Seth. But it looks like it was done by the same person, he won’t have much of choice. People are going to put two and one together and see the pattern even if we don't.”

“Christ.”

Neil was sure the other men would want to chat a bit longer while CSI finished clearing up the crime scene, but Neil took the natural lull in the conversation as his chance to steal another look at the body.

Neil had seen a lot of bodies. Most of them didn’t bother him, but most of them were fresh. From what he could tell from his spot down the road, the body hadn’t reached the later stages of decay. Still, he wanted to get a closer look.

A burly man with a distinct scold Neil noticed from yards away— likely the aforementioned Gordon by the way Boyd straightened up— moved towards their little group but Neil wasn’t in the mood for any small talk with haughty homicide detectives. He would leave the interdepartmental politics to Hemmick to navigate.

Neil didn’t bother to excuse himself from the conversation before making his way over to the body for the first time and crouching beside it.

The body was female, likely somewhere in her forties or fifties. She clothed a clean, pressed blue dress and smart black shoes with its hands positioned over its chest over where a small bouquet of yellow flowers sat. Her shoulder length brunette hair held an unnatural waxy sheen, likely a wig, but was styled to frame the face in an almost delicate way. She looked peaceful, almost doll-like and something about the pristine clothes and polished shoes grated at Neil. Coupled with the body being disposed of right off the highway in plain view rather than buried deep in the nearby woods, it was almost as if the killer was toying with them.

“Shit,” Hemmick’s voice drifted from over Neil’s shoulder. He covered his nose and mouth with a surgical mask provided by one of the scene technicians. He looked away from the body under the guise of inspecting the rest of the crime scene. “We need to talk to the guy who found the body and then the neighbors to find out if they saw anything.”

“I won’t be long,” Neil promised.

“You know,” Hemmick said in a quiet voice, “the medical examiner can handle this.” Neil wrinkled his nose in disgust. He was familiar with the medical examiner’s office and even more with the assistant medical examiner. Neil would be more than happy never to have to deal with him again.

“Gloves?” Neil raised a hand and waited for Hemmick to pass him a pair of gloves. He carefully moved the victim’s hair aside to check her neck for markings. Then did a slow inspection of her face and upper body. Neil pointed to both shoulders and the neck, listing off his findings in a calm, clinical tone.

“We have lacerations here, here, and here that are muscle deep. The cut along the neck is clean avoids major arteries and veins. The killer must have done that while she was still alive. Cuts on the upper arms as well.”

Neil took a careful breath and lifted the edge of dress’ hemline.

“She’s wearing underwear. We’ll have to wait on the autopsy to find out the likelihood of any kind of sexual assault. There are also cuts along her inner thighs but avoiding her femoral artery, possibly tried bleeding her out.”

“Torture?” Hemmick asked.

“No,” Neil tried to study the laceration more carefully, ignoring the slight churning in his stomach. “The cut looks clean. He probably wouldn’t have been able to do that if she were still alive.”

“Exactly like the other bodies then,” Hemmick said in a tired voice. Neil turned his head to catch Hemmick’s expression in the pale morning light. It was twisted into a pained grimace. Hemmick sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face as if trying to wipe away his revulsion physically. He took a deep breath and fixed Neil with a strained cheerful smile.

“Let’s go,” Hemmick said, “time to wake up some neighbors.”

Neil felt his stomach take an unpleasant turn. He slowly rose to his feet, putting distance between himself and the body. As he followed Hemmick away from the still corpse, he could see people from the coroner’s office bringing over a black body bag. Neil didn’t see them place the body in the bag, but he knew that for the next 48 hours, he’d see nothing but the still lifeless body whenever he closed his eyes.

* * *

The trucker stabbing case was Neil’s first case on the job. Despite the chaos earlier that morning, Neil was still expected in court at nine am sharp to give his testimony in a preliminary hearing. It was as tedious as it was unnecessarily drawn out. Hemmick was supposed to accompany him, but the senior detective was tied down with interviewing everyone who lived on the stretch of road where the body was found earlier that morning. Both Hemmick and the lieutenant at the police station would be expecting Neil back at the station immediately following the hearing, but Neil had to make a detour.

It was a ten-minute walk from the courthouse to the police station. Neil only had a short window of time before his phone would start blowing up with notifications demanding his immediate return, so his meeting would have to be quick.

The temperature in South Carolina never quite reached the colder temperatures of some of the places Neil had lived before, but autumn added a crispness in the air that pushed people away from outdoor activities. Memorial Park was only a block away from the police station— a bit risky for the meeting Neil was having, but he couldn’t risk going fifteen minutes out of his way for a meeting that likely wouldn’t last more than ten minutes and then have to rush his way back into the city.

Aside from that, meeting clandestinely in the park was a cliche.

Neil leaned over the bridge and peered at the still water below. Memorial Park housed a collection of statues and memorials honoring veterans. The bridge gave him a good view of most of the park and therefore most of the traffic moving in and out. Yet he was still surprised when a woman in a black peacoat planted herself a few feet away from him. Neil tensed, but she only looked over the bridge without speaking to him, and Neil felt slightly embarrassed by his actions.

“It’s chilly today,” she said eventually in a casual tone. Neil wasn’t sure if she actually wanted to talk about the weather or if it was her backward attempt at calming him. Instead, he watched as some tourists took pictures at one of the statues.

“I guess,” he replied. She shrugged slightly, seemingly unperturbed by his surliness.

“I like fall,” she said. “Everything seems so fresh. It’s invigorating.”

“Everything is dying.” He didn’t want to stand around talking about the weather. He was busy, utterly exhausted already from the prospect of spending the next 40 hours chasing leads and living off of coffee and the knowledge that whoever killed that women, and the others before her, was slipping further and further away from the longer he stood around talking about the weather.

She hummed to herself as if pondering his point. “But then everything will be reborn in the spring. And I think that’s kind of beautiful. Don’t you?”

“Walker.”

“Hello Neil,” Agent Renee Walker looked at him and gave him a small smile. “I heard you’ve had a busy morning. I’m sorry to be meeting you like this, but you know how Wymack is.”

“I don’t have much a choice,” Neil said before he could stop himself. If Walker was offended, she hid it carefully. Neil suspected his dislike of her wasn’t completely lost on her. Still, ever the consummate professional, she didn’t call him out on it.

“I know things are busy so I hope to make this quick so you can get back to work,” her tone grew more serious. “How’s the investigation coming along?”

“It’s not,” Neil said truthfully. “I still think sending me in as a junior detective was a mistake. I’m stuck with grunt work. I barely have time to carry on multiple investigations.”

“I agree. Sending you in as a street officer might have been a better call. But it’s too late to go back now.” Walker turned back to the water below. “Do you think they’ll call us in to investigate the murders?”

Neil couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “The lead detective from homicide, Gordon, is being stubborn. Boyd is his second. He wants to call the feds in, but Gordon isn’t exactly listening to him.”

“What about a task force?” Walker frowned. Walker had as many different frowns as she had gentle smiles— far too many and always even-tempered and unsettling. She never looked angry. Neil could deal with angry but not Walker’s mild disapproval.

“Not likely unless the killer strikes again in a neighboring county. He barely wants to work with our department. The only reason he’s cooperating is that no one wants to deal with the lieutenant throwing a fit.”

“Stay on mission,” Walker said definitively. She straightened up and wiped at some invisible dirt on her coat. “And please try to stay away from office politics.”

“I’m fine. I’m not going to start a fight.”

“I’m not saying that,” Walker shook her head, “just stay safe and maintain cover. You’re doing a good job.”

He wasn’t.

When he joined the FBI, through heavy coercion, he didn’t know what to expect. His last deep cover mission left him physically and emotionally drained. Yet he knew he couldn’t stay anywhere near Baltimore. South Carolina seemed quiet enough, but now he had a possible serial killer on the loose and a department of dumbasses who didn’t know how to work together.

If he were Gordon, he would have called ViCAP in after the second or third identical body and gotten ahead of the game, would have thought to check the national database. Almost everyone else in Investigations and Violent Crimes had years of experience on him, and while Neil was tempted, he also knew he couldn’t go picking fights with senior detectives. Besides, Neil was much better at picking fights than ending them.

“Wymack wants you in the office sometime this week,” Walker said breaking him out of his thoughts. She didn’t wait for him to respond, knowing well enough that he likely wouldn’t. Still, Neil gave her a small nod in acknowledgment. “Stay safe Neil. We’ll reach out later so just focus on your assignment.”

“Thank you,” it came out more of a question than he intended but she gave him another one of her patent smiles.

Neil didn’t watch her leave.

Neil pulled his jacket closer around him, not his CPD windbreaker but something equally as ill equipped for the sudden temperature drop. Neil didn’t know if it was the lack of sleep— waking up to visit a dead body at dusk was different than waking up to run at dusk— or the brisk autumn air, but he felt a chill run through his body. He pulled his jacket even closer knowing he had to get back to the chaos of the station. He wished he had a cigarette to light, not to smoke but for the small comfort the smoke provided him, but he had kicked the habit during training. It was cold. He was alone.

Neil let out a deep breath and turned to make his way back to the station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: corpses, descriptions of corpses, sexual assault mention
> 
>  
> 
> Comments keep me going and feedback is always welcome. Find me on tumblr @thepalmtoptiger

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced torture
> 
> Find me on Tumblr @thepalmtoptiger


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